The next few days in Toronto will be an outpouring of grief and a celebration of a man who stood up for what he believed in, a rare thing in modern politics. Mr. Layton was the kind of man who gave people keys to his home so they could hold meetings whenever they wanted, and it was not unusual for Mr. Layton to come home to find twenty people sitting in his living room, many of whom he didn't know.
Whether you agree with Mr. Laytons' politics or not, surely some admiration is due simply for his well documented passion and commitment. I am grateful that a man of his character and stature was my representative in the riding of Toronto-Danforth, and like many, I was deeply saddened by his passing.
His cancer touched my life, but it was not the only cancer story that touched my life this week. A world away, in Ghana, I was privy to another cancer based Shakespearean drama.
About a month ago , Toufic, my friend from Larabanga sent me an email. I could hear the desperation in his words. His lovely young sister, who graciously made me a meal during my visit had been diagnosed with breast cancer.
And it was then presented to me: the stark reality that most of humanity lives in places where free clinics might provide basic medicine or help heal basic injuries or provide vaccines, but if you have a cancer and little money, you are in big trouble.
In my travel experience, I have found that the truly poor on this planet are not given to whining. They are given to surviving, and I am sure that Miss Kamera ignored the pain for has long as she possibly could, not wishing to be an economic burden to her family, she probably said nothing until the day the pain became fully incapacitating.
The email from Toufic, was frantic and clear, and I sent what I could, giving naive encouragement, as if Miss Kamera had the same access to a sophisticated medical system that I do. I asked to keep in touch. He did.
Toufic also got a grant from The Ghana Welfare Agency, and a Muslim organisation made a contribution and he had finally secured enough funds to begin treatment. My hope was that the worst case scenario would be a mastectomy, but it was not to be.
Toufic has already lost his mother and father, and now he has lost his only sibling at her ripe old age of twenty-eight. I cannot help but think that her death is as equally attributable to poverty as it is to cancer. He was kind enough to send me an email, which I received, the day after Mr. Layton passed.
Same disease, same outcome, but a very different ceremony.
So for me, this somber weekend will be a dual ceremony, one involving the grief of a nation, and the other involving a lone young man staring at a grave in a far off place that I shall not see again.
Goodbye, Miss Kamera and Mr. Layton. This weekend I honour you both together and equally, and I suspect neither of you would have any objection.
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